When To Worry
by MiaGhost
Summary: When Gabriel disappears after school one night, it isn't that unusual. He sulks on a semi-regular basis. But when he's not accounted for by Midnight, people start to worry. Sam finds his best friend, of course, but the state he finds him in leads to explosive vengeance taken by the normally placid Winchester. Gabriel doesn't think he's worth it, but Sam will prove him wrong.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

Sam didn't worry, not initially.

Despite Gabriel's usual flippancy when it came to rules and commitments, he'd always had an exception for Sam.

But Physics _was_ his least favourite subject, and despite somehow having wrangled their teacher into letting the two best friends work together on this new project, Sam wasn't too surprised that Gabriel had blown off their agreed study date. It wasn't a frequent occurrence, despite what impression Gabriel's reputation might give, but still.

He frowned when his call got put through to Gabriel's voicemail as he was gathering up his stuff to leave the library, but he still wasn't worried. He rolled his eyes and listened to the teasing, childish recording before leaving his own amused, put-out message at being ditched. He promised Gabriel would have to owe him an extra study session off-schedule.

He wasn't worried, not then.

When he still couldn't get Gabriel on the phone after dinner, he was a little further annoyed, sure that Gabriel's procrastinating had run its course for long enough. He called the Novak household, got Cas on the other end. Castiel listened, the sound of confusion something Sam somehow heard. Castiel was puzzled. Gabriel hadn't come home for dinner. They had all assumed he'd headed home with Sam after their library session.

Sam hung up with a promise to find him and cuff him upside the head, chuckled weakly when Castiel's voice took on a scolding edge that promised to chastise Gabriel, little brother or not. He tried Gabriel's cell again, didn't bother with a message that time. He swallowed the growing irritation at his best friend, as used to Gabriel's disappearing as he was.

When nine pm came and Castiel phoned, asking if Gabriel had turned up, Sam began to grow concerned. He was still a little pissed too, knowing Gabriel would be well aware that he was making everybody worry a bit. Sometimes Gabriel disappeared until after dawn, spent the night out walking or God knows what, but that was only ever when he'd had a really bad argument with someone. Usually one of his brothers, though mostly when that happened he came to Sam after he'd cooled off. When he and Sam fought - shockingly rare, but it happened - he ran off and sulked somewhere unknown.

But he always came back.

And Sam _knew_ Gabriel hadn't argued with anyone that day, not any more than usual, anyway.

It was at eleven that his concern began to curl into worry.

There were no snippy, bitchy texts, no melodramatic emoji-tales. No flagrantly profane status updates online. Sam had promised Castiel he'd call, but when Midnight struck and Castiel sent a short, questioning text, Sam knew someone was wrong.

 _I'm going out to find him._ he sent back, _Dean will text if he turns up here while I'm gone_.

 _Okay._ came the reply, _Thank you, Samuel_.

Sam flicked the lock button as he stepped into his other boot, a grim sort of smile on his face. Castiel had never been one for improper grammar, not since they were all little. But he did normally conform to the accepted version of Sam's name. Using his full one was a sign he was worried, or utterly serious, even more so than his usual stoic countenance.

Sam shucked his jacket on over his hoody, not bothering with the zip as he slipped out of the house, his keys almost forgotten, shoved into his jeans pocket at the last minute. He stepped into the late summer night, grateful at least that Gabriel wouldn't be sulking around in the snow this time. He tried Gabriel's phone again, cursing the voicemail.

He tried the first few places he could think of. He tried the all-night diner downtown, the one that did the fried banana that Gabriel liked. The hadn't seen him, the older guy behind the counter looking at Sam with concerned eyes when he realised Sam was _looking_ for him because he might be missing. Sam smiled his thanks at the wishes of luck that followed him back outside. He tried the park, where he and Gabriel liked to walk Loki, the labrador cross that Sam talked Dean into when their Dad basically abandoned them last year, under the exaggeration that he'd be a good guard dog.

Gabriel picked the name, of course. Sam liked it. The dog was crazy, like a second Gabriel, only the dog slept on Sam's bed at night.

He tried the rocks by the length of river Gabriel often frequented. He tried the racetrack where he liked to run and Gabriel liked to sprawl on the grass, where they'd learned to ride their bikes she they were kids.

He was getting desperate by the time he was finished searching there, his eyes drawn across the field towards the dark hulking shape of the High school. Dean's answering text was instant.

 _No sign of him yet_.

Sam glanced up the road towards the lights and muted sound of the main road, dismissing the tiny thought that maybe Gabriel had gone somewhere up the highway. He wouldn't, not when he knew how pissed Sam would be at him. Sam's gaze drifted down the lonely road towards the school again.

What the hell, he'd tried everywhere else.

He set off across the empty grass, cursing Gabriel for making him worry like this just because he was in a shit mood. He hoped Gabriel hadn't done anything stupid, like break in through an unlocked window to mess around in the school, or worse. Through a locked one.

A quick skirt of the school gave him nothing, making Sam bite back frustration as a release for the true, deep-seated worry that had taken proper hold of his breathing. What if Gabriel had done something stupid near the highway like Sam had tried not to think? What if he'd gone hitchhiking in a fit of temper and he was stuck somewhere, unable to get home? Or worse, locked in a truck cab with some serial killer, some cannibal with a penchant for dicing up teenagers he found on the side of the road?

Sam shook his head and tried to make himself laugh, for fear he'd start really believing something like that had happened.

"Gabriel, you _dick_. Where the fuck are you?" he muttered to himself, finishing his second circuit of the outside of the school and running a hand through his hair as he stared up at firmly closed, darkened windows.

The whole building was locked tight. Sam kicked a loose pebble lying near the rear steps, watching it bounce off the whitewashed stone and through the dirt, coming to a halt by some shrubbery. Sam's eyes continued the arc, catching on the branches of the corpse a few hundred feet away.

 _The trees_.

He wasted no time in striding off, hands clenching as he thought about all the things he was going to have to say to his _idiot_ best friend to impress upon him how utter ridiculously reckless and _unfair_ it was when he disappeared on them for hours on end and how Sam was going to _kill_ him if he ever did it ag-

Sam rounded past a tree a little way into the mini-forest and ground to a halt so fast he nearly fell over himself. An instant, tearing nausea hurtled from his gut and up through his chest, sending him faltering back a few steps and reaching for the tree beside him as he got himself under control from the shock. He could taste bile, spitting unhelpfully as he tried to drag in a breath without taking his eyes from the sight before him.

Not ten feet from where he stood, someone was… _slumped_ against one of the trunks, head hanging down over a pale chest. It was difficult to see in the gathered night, with the trees blocking the moonlight, but it was _definitely_ a person. And a horrid, clawing knowing screamed in Sam's head, because he just _knew_.

"Oh fuck." he managed to whisper, a fear trying to hold him back.

It was irrational, and Sam shook himself hard and forced him legs to move, a trembling in his gut. The air felt suddenly cold around him, icy. He was sure he was in shock. His eyes were burning, staring at the form by the tree as he cross the tiny distance that seemed so large. When he was a couple metres away, his heart clenched because the figure looked an awful lot like who he feared it was.

"Gabe?" he tried, heart in his throat because the body wasn't moving, "Gabe? _Can you hear me?_ "

He stopped in front of him, gasping fearful air before he could coerce his locking muscles into crouching. One hand trembled as it reached for that mop of hair, so dark in the shadows but usually so shiny and warm like honeyed maple.

The head jerked under his fingers and he let out the breath he'd been holding, his heart beginning to beat again even though he hadn't noticed it stop. It rushed hard and loud in his chest. He was careful, pushing the hair - sticky with something - back from the hidden face.

"Gabe?" he whispered brokenly, for that's who it was, "Gabriel? It's me, it's Sam, what- are you- Gabe? Are you hurt?"

Gabriel whined, his head moving groggily out of Sam's touch. But Sam followed the movement, dropping to his knees in the mossy ground and reaching for Gabriel's face with both hands.

"Gabriel?" he murmured, trying his best to sound soothing while all sorts of fears raced in his head.

That time, when his palm brushed over Gabriel's cheek, the other boy leaned into the touch, marred eyelids fluttering to reveal half-moons.

"Sam?"

Sam moved closer, running his fingers lightly across a darker patch on Gabriel's cheekbone, his stomach lurching as Gabriel winced. His fingers came away tacky. He felt sick all over again.

"Yeah, Gabe. It's me."

Gabriel's head lifted a little, giving Sam a better look at his pale skin in the darkness, at the many smaller dark patches all over his face, patches Sam was suddenly sure were bruises, and blood. He felt an anger simmer roughly under his skin and slid an arm around Gabriel's shoulders, trying not to jerk away when he realised his friend's shoulders were bare, chilled beneath his fingers. He didn't have time to really notice, though, because when he tried to draw Gabriel closer to him, the boy wouldn't budge.

And that was when Sam was suddenly, truly, _blindingly_ angry.

Because Gabriel wasn't _slumped_ against the tree trunk, he was _bound_ to it. Some dick had tied him up, with-

Sam had to swallow hard to stop himself from releasing the angry, vicious sound that was birthed in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Sam's fingers dug into Gabriel's shoulder as he moved closer, his free hand trailing carefully over the thick, darker stripe crossing Gabriel's midsection. They'd bound him to the tree with duct-tape. Sam bit back a growled sound.

"I'll _kill_ them." he spat, fingers already searching for the loose end to start un-peeling, wishing he was like his older brother and carrying a switchblade.

Gabriel seemed to be climbing into consciousness in his arms, small, pained noises drifting into the air. Sam tried his best to steady his breathing and hush his friend, but anger was a burning, spitting thing in his gut, and he was sure he was going to explode.

"Who did this, Gabe?" he barked, stopping for a moment to raise Gabriel's chin so that their eyes could meet, "Who did this to you? I'll kill them, I swear, I'll fucking-"

"Sam." Gabriel said, still sounding disoriented and slurred, one hand reaching up to form a loose grip on Sam's hoody, "Heya, Sammm..."

"Gods, Gabriel. Are you okay? What happened? Who did this?"

Sam became aware he was crying when his words hitched in his chest and made the tears perched in his eyes fall. He returned his fingers to finding the edge of the duct-tape, situated far from Gabriel's reach, and he had to let go of Gabriel to start unwinding. The longer it took, the more pissed he found himself. Circling the tree, stepping carefully over Gabriel's legs each circuit, being much more gentle and soft-handed when he reached Gabriel, peeling it from him layer by layer until finally he had the second last layer, the last.

It dragged at Gabriel's skin painfully, making Gabriel whimper and Sam hiss, and as soon as it was done he had Gabriel in his arms, the shorter boy falling against him in an exhausted, shivering heap.

"Hey, hey," he hushed, one hand finding its way into Gabriel's hair and utterly unable to care right in that moment if it was inappropriate touching for just being friends.

Because Gabriel was shaking, his face pressed tightly into Sam's chest as he loosed tiny, bitterly hurt sounds. Sam held him close, one hand rubbing circles against his back and the one in his hair drawing slow, careful motions through the tangled strands.

"Hey, it's alright now. I got you, Gabe. I'm gonna get you home, okay? Hey, hey, sshh."

When Sam ducked his head to see his face, the fight momentarily left him. Gabriel's face was bruised and twisted in an uncomfortable expression, and there were silvery glints on his cheeks that belied his tears.

"Oh, Gabriel." Sam whispered, hugging him carefully but fiercely, swallowing hard against the sound of crying.

It wasn't like he'd never heard Gabriel cry before, or seen it. But it had been years since he'd seen anything other than tears of desperate frustration, from screaming matches with his father, his brothers. Gabriel hadn't cried liked this, raw and unchecked, since they were little kids. His thumb brushed back and forth over Gabriel's neck.

"Sam?"

Sam dipped his face to the side to press the edge of his jaw against Gabriel's temple, his eyes finding a lump on the moss nearby that could be Gabriel's shirt. They had to get out of this place, he knew, get Gabriel somewhere inside and safe. Somewhere warm and familiar. He doubted Gabriel would want to go home in his current state, but if Sam could get him to _his_ house, maybe they could clean him up a little before he went home. Make him feel better first.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming."

Gabriel's voice was raspy, and Sam wondered how long he'd been stuck out there, duct-taped to a fucking tree without his shirt. He was probably starving. It had to be after one by now, maybe even two. He wished he'd brought water with him.

"'Course I came, idiot. Sorry it took so long to find you."

Gabriel's wet chuckle was almost more heart-breaking than it was reassuring.

"Guess I shouldn't disappear so often, then."

Sam sighed, pressing Gabriel closer before drawing back, rocking back on his knees to look down at him. He seemed more lucid now, his eyes open and looking up at Sam when he moved. His hands were fisted in Sam's hoody, but he relaxed them when he met Sam's gaze, and he forced a weak smile on his face.

"We should think about getting you home." Sam said, his eyes finding the shirt ring not so far away.

Gabriel followed his gaze, wincing when Sam shifted their combined weight and started to get up.

"Yeah, no. Don't go near that."

At Sam's puzzle glance, Gabriel swallowed and looked away, something about him feeling uncomfortable where he was. Sam reached for his face without thinking, seemingly losing all of his restraint because Gabriel was hurt.

"What? Isn't that your shirt?"

Gabriel winced, shifted, one hand leaving Sam's shirt to brush cautiously at his swollen, damp eyes.

"Yeah, but I don't want it any more."

"Gabe-"

"They made it unwearable." Gabriel cut him off, voice low and uncomfortable and… embarrassed.

Sam looked at him for a very long moment.

"What did they do?" he asked eventually, because they both knew he had to even if the air felt like he shouldn't.

Gabriel hunched very small, his voice shaky.

"They pissed on it." he whispered, and Sam's waylaid anger returned in force.

"Animals." the spat, arms finding their way around Gabriel again, giving him a brief, comforting squeeze, "Bastards."

And then he was leaning away, taking all his heat with him, because he was shucking off his coat, reaching for the zip on his hoody. Gabriel's hands reached up to stop him, but Sam only gave him a flat look and carefully moved his fingers away again. He slid from the hoody too, sorting the sleeves before draping it over Gabriel's shoulders and guiding Gabriel's arms into the sleeves like he was a little kid.

Gabriel let him, shivering violently, trying and failing at the zip with numb fingers before Sam's warm hands encased his own and helped him out. It was way too big on him, baggy even on Sam, who was a good bit taller than him, and the material fell far over his hands and past his waist. He hunched into it, allowing Sam to fuss and tuck the hood up over his head. It smelt comfortingly of the washing powder Sam and Dean used, and Sam's cologne, his deodorant, his sweat. The hood had a vague, faint scent of Sam's shampoo.

Gabriel pulled the too-long sleeves up to hold the collar to his nose and he breathed it in, all of it, letting the familiarity of it calm his roiling stomach and soothe the jittery nerves under his skin. He was suddenly really fucking tired, despite having drifted in and out for the last couple hours after screaming himself hoarse hoping someone would hear.

"How did you find me?" he queried, when Sam was securing his jacket over Gabriel's shoulders, fingers coaxing him to let go of the hoody to fit his arms in more sleeves.

"Process of elimination," Sam answered, and he sounded… _off_.

Gabriel looked up at him, the tightness of his jaw and the burn he could see in the normally placid hazel of his eyes.

"Care to elaborate there, Sam-a-lam?"

Sam's mouth twitched briefly, and it made Gabriel try to smile too, despite how it all hurt. Everything hurt. _Everything_.

"Tried everywhere. Had to find you eventually."

There were many reasons why Sam Winchester was his best friend, and that was only one of them. Gabriel leaned against his chest again when Sam was finished fussing with the second zip. Sam gave him a sigh, but he didn't deny the hug, tugging Gabriel further onto his lap and almost crushing him as he hugged hard.

"Was so fucking worried you'd gotten in a car with some perv who was gonna murder you."

Gabriel laughed. It seemed to surprise Sam when he did. Hell, it surprised Gabriel a little.

"Creative." he teased.

"Shut up." was Sam's reply, before he was moving again and Gabriel was being tugged to his feet, "Come on. We'll get you cleaned up at mine. Cas is going crazy, I promised I'd text him."

"But you haven't." Gabriel stated, looking at him as Sam helped steady him on his feet.

"We'll get you checked out first." Sam answered lowly, and Gabriel felt warm bloom inside his chest as he followed his best friend through the trees.

Sam was going to try and sort him best he could before his little brother had the chance to see him. On so many levels, Gabriel was utterly grateful. He didn't want to worry Cas any more than he had to. And his pride wouldn't take a blow like that well, Cas seeing him at his weakest. Sam was giving him time to get a grip on himself again.

"Who knew mooses were such caring types?"

Sam's smile was weak, but that time it was really there.

"Maybe little creatures appeal to our better natures."

Gabriel cracked a real smile too.

"Are you implying I'm short, Winchester?"

A startled, weak chuckle.

"Who, you? Never."

As Gabriel grinned up at him, Sam's arm draped over his shoulders and they manoeuvred through the remaining trees. The move was subtle, not uncommon in their long years of friendship, but timed right when they stepped out into the grassy expanse behind the school. Sam was letting him know he was there. He could have rolled his eyes and made some witty retort about being treated like a wilting flower, if it wasn't for the fact that it _did_ make him feel better.

They were quiet as they made their way across town to Sam's house, both of them aware of the growing anger bubbling under Sam's blank expression. Gabriel had very rarely seen Sam truly angry. They'd been friends since… well, probably forever, far further back than Gabriel's memory served him, and yet he'd seen it a meagre handful of times. Always at righteous, truly deserving moments.

When they were twelve, Sam's father John bad-mouthing their friend Charlie, when he found out she liked girls.

Three years ago, at fourteen, when the court ruled Sam and Dean's newly discovered half-brother Adam was to be given fully to his incapable mother, despite her problems with alcohol and the dodgy company she deigned to keep.

Last year, when they'd seen Brady McPherson chasing a stray cat with firecrackers. Brady still hadn't quite managed to look at Sam without wincing.

Gabriel knew the anger in Sam's whole frame was because of him, and yet he couldn't find the energy to be upset, or annoyed, or logical. It made him feel warm and special, and right then that was something he was craving like his lungs craved air. He'd been beaten, verbally abused and left half-dressed and duct-taped to a tree. He was kinda digging _special_ at the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

_**(A/N):** Background._

 _I love the idea of Kid!Gabriel. I have so many ideas of him being the class-clown and he and Sam being polar opposites but best friends anyway._

 _Apologies to anyone looking for action/aftermath after Chapters One and Two. It's coming, I swear, but this seemed an organic place to give weight to their background._

 _I hope sort-of cuteness makes up for it._

* * *

 _Chapter_ _Three_

On Sam's very first day of school, he was terrified.

They'd moved into their new house less than a week earlier, later than John had been expecting the building to be ready for them. As such, Sam and Dean missed the first week of the new school year. For Dean, this wasn't a huge deal. He was nine, and already had four years of practice at being one of the most popular kids in his class. It was his third school too, so he'd already done the new kid thing before, after their mom died. He hadn't been all that happy about moving yet again, but he rarely questioned their father's decisions. Missing a week only gave Dean that extra edge.

He'd not only be the coolest kid in class, but he'd be entering into his class right when the status quo was _just_ established. He'd be new and interesting, with stories of his last class and old pranks and everything.

Sam, on the other hand, hadn't started school yet. At five, he was scrawny and quiet and eager to learn. But rather than look forward to school he'd dreaded it. He wasn't cool like Dean. His brain was fast but his words jumbled when he tried to voice his thoughts, particularly if he was rushed or nervous. He was missing that first week of establishing what school was going to be like. He'd missed the week where the teacher introduced routines and explained things and showed them around the huge building.

Sam was going in knowing that his whole class already knew all the things he was going to have to learn. Like where the toilets were, and whether the teacher wanted him to say miss when he raised his hand or stay quiet and where the dining hall was and where he had to go if he was a packed lunch that day.

It started off _awful_. He had to introduce himself to a huge class, he was so nervous he babbled and talked about his mom and that made him cry and when the teacher had to give him a tissue he was so embarrassed he mumbled 'thanks dad' instead of 'sir' and his whole class laughed at him. Sam was ready for the day to be over before it had even properly started. There was only one group with an empty seat, so Sam wasn't at all surprised when the man put him at that table. His seat was on the left of a boy who had stuck his tongue out at him when he'd first come into the classroom, with another boy on his left who got a desk to himself because he was at the bottom of the group.

There was another boy further to Sam's right, and then another one across from Sam's partner and across from Sam there was a girl with red hair who looked like she wished she wasn't sitting there at all. Sam got the feeling his group wasn't going to be very nice.

At least he could see the front without having to turn around.

By the time Sam was finished at that school and ready to move on to high school, his first day was a distant, hazy memory. But he'd made friends that day, thoroughly dismissing the loneliness he'd feared.

It turned out the girl across from him was called Charlotte and hated her name, insisting everyone call her Charlie. She usually had her hair in two pigtails, which she also hated, and she'd thought boys were all annoying idiots until she met Sam. All of this he learned at playtime, when it was raining outside and they had to stay inside. Sam had chosen to stay at the table when his group raced for space on the carpet and for the neat line of brightly-coloured toy boxes against one wall.

She'd rolled her eyes and told him that he'd been put at a sucky table, and for some reason Sam had smiled. Her eyes were very blue and smiley. She didn't smile much during group work, but Sam had quickly discovered that was because their group mates weren't ones she'd choose.

The boys at either end of their table were sullen and unfriendly types who followed Fergus around but didn't really do anything, apparently. The one between Sam and Charlie was called Art and the one at the other end was called Mark. They both had the same brown hair and green eyes but different noses. Charlie told Sam they were brothers.

The dark-haired boy Sam sat next to was called Fergus but his friends called him Creepy Crawly, and he was a grump, according to Charlie. The boy across from him, next to Charlie, had messy blonde hair and his name was Gabriel and he and Fergus were arch-enemies. Sam was almost positive that those only existed in stories and movies. It seemed Gabriel had several arch-enemies, most of whom he'd been in playgroup with, and it sounded quite a lot like Sam should probably keep a safe distance. Charlie said it sucked sitting next to him because he and Fergus kicked each other under the table all the time and that meant that Gabriel quite often swung his out of the way into Charlie's space, or Fergus would kick her instead.

Sam didn't like bullies, or people who kicked other people. He liked Charlie though. He liked her a lot. She was friendly and funny and she read lots like he did, for _fun_. She'd even just finished reading the Harry Potter book he was reading, and she bit her lip and swore to him she'd try really hard not to spoil it for him even though she was so excited to have a friend who read books that she just wanted to talk about it _forever_.

So Sam swore that if Fergus or Gabriel kicked her again he'd kick them back. Sam had quite long legs, despite how small he appeared, and he thought he could quite easily kick Gabriel if he hurt Charlie again.

His chance came when Gabriel and Fergus were kicking each other before lunch. Sam was working hard on his worksheet, but he knew it was going on. He watched Charlie carefully, and when she yelped and gave Gabriel a shove with a scowl on her face, Sam kicked before he could lose his nerve.

Gabriel was in the middle of apologising to Charlie and he looked so surprised as he looked over at Sam that for a moment even Fergus's laughter was quiet.

"You kicked me." he accused, and Sam was instantly ashamed of himself, even as he fought back the urge to hunch his shoulders and say sorry.

"You kicked Charlie." he said, looking down at the table as he felt his face heat up.

Gabriel didn't say anything else. The other boys at the table were watching, Sam could feel them listening to them.

"I didn't kick _you_." Gabriel said.

"You kicked Charlie." Sam repeated, voice soft and quiet, "And Charlie's my friend."

"You mean _girlfriend_." Fergus muttered, and instantly the other two boys were making embarrassing 'oooooooh-ing' noises under their breaths.

Sam's face was red and his neck was hot and it was impossible to meet Charlie's eyes even though he could see that she'd gone pink too. It was a shock for everyone when it was _Charlie_ who answered.

"I'd have much more fun being Sam's girlfriend than _yours_." she huffed, crossing her arms and levelling an indignant glare Fergus's way, "At least he's _nice_. _You're_ just a pain in the neck."

The shocked silence was tense and massive for exactly two seconds, because that's when Gabriel started to laugh and Fergus started to grumble loud enough to bring the teacher over and everybody got into trouble once he'd dragged the story out of six five year-olds trying to give each other the blame.

Sam got a gentler scolding, because he was new and because he'd been sticking up for Charlie, even if it was the wrong way to go about it. Charlie was told it wasn't very nice to tell people they were a pain in the neck. The teacher sounded as if he agreed with her just a little, though. Fergus and Gabriel were reprimanded properly and told on no uncertain terms that the rivalry between them _had_ to stop.

The teacher didn't care if Gabriel insisted Fergus had been the one to start it, even if Fergus didn't deny it.

Gabriel was second last to be sent back to the group, while the teacher spoke to Fergus on his own. They were supposed to get on with the worksheet while he was busy. Sam tried, but Gabriel's voice had that sort of quality to it that made him listen even if he didn't want to. Gabriel apologised to Charlie properly, even telling her she could have the sweets from his lunchbox at lunch, if she wanted to.

Sam felt bad for kicking Gabriel. Maybe he should have kicked Fergus instead. Maybe he shouldn't have kicked anybody at all. His dad would be furious if he found out Sam was doing things like that. Especially on his first day. It was different from hitting back, he'd heard John tell Dean a hundred times over the years, if you were in a fight it was different. You hit back then. He'd wouldn't be mad if it was a fight.

"I'm sorry I kicked you." he'd said.

At lunchtime Sam was worried he wouldn't be able to sit with Charlie. At Dean's old school the people with packed lunches sat at different table from people who were buying lunch. It had been something Dean had thought was stupid and annoying, because his friends had packed lunches and Dean didn't like them. He liked having hot food for lunch.

But Sam needn't have worried, because it wasn't a rule at the new school. He and Charlie picked a table and he saved her seat while she was in the line. And then Gabriel sat on his other side and told Sam a bad joke and by the time Charlie came over with her lunch all water was well under the bridge. Sam and Gabriel were thick as thieves from that very moment, something that quite often surprised almost everyone but Charlie, because Sam was good and quiet and listened to teachers and Gabriel was wild and cheeky and caused trouble.

They hadn't changed all that much over the years. Sam was still the ever-diligent student and Gabriel was funny and loud and cheeky. Fergus stayed Gabriel's number one arch-enemy, although his friends stopped calling him Creepy Crawly at some point when they were ten, instead dubbing him Crowley. Fergus became a thing of the past. Even teachers called him Crowley. Sam also grew much taller, of course, and Gabriel's hair - no longer short and messy but kept neat and just long enough to curl under his ears - darkened from blonde to something more golden-brown, but essentially they were as they always had been and that worked for them.

On their first day of high school they were sorted into different homerooms because they'd been given different House-names or some such nonsense. Charlie was sorted with Sam and stuck close to his side the whole day because neither was all that keen on making new friends before they'd ascertained who was who. High school was a jungle, a social hierarchy greater and fiercer than the dynamics of the class they'd spent years with. It seemed so small compared to high school.

It sucked not having Gabriel with him all day, even if his best friend could be the biggest pain ever. Charlie was of course his best friend too, but after a few days she'd happily spread her wings and made some friends who were girls, something she'd never really done because their class had been predominantly male and the few girls had been utterly disinterested in books and more interested in ponies. Charlie liked all animals, naturally, but that didn't mean she wanted to spend every lunchtime talking about how cute Sandra's horse was in his winter stockings and with the ribbons she'd braided into his mane or how shiny the medal was that they'd earned at the jumping.

But at high school? High school was Charlie's time to shine. She was quirky and funny and sweet and knowledgable and there was a much larger pool of people their age who were _like her_.

Sam didn't grudge it, of course. She was his close friend and she was so happy. And they were still best fiends, anyway. Sam was the one urging her to sit with others in class, perfectly okay to sit himself sometimes. At lunch it was even easier, because he had Gabriel at lunchtime and life was good.

They were three weeks in when Sam first got picked on. It wasn't anything huge, a simple bloody nose and some choice words thrown his way. Dean put an end to it pretty quickly and the Headmaster talked to Sam about what had happened. He'd been targeted by Fergus-now-known-as-Crowley, caught between classes because Crowley knew Sam didn't have his best friend beside him every minute any more. As bullies went, Crowley was a coward. He was clever and devious about when he struck and just what he did, rarely entering any fight he couldn't win.

The Headmaster asked about it, Sam told him. Crowley had known he didn't have Gabriel to back him up. He'd shrugged when the teacher asked about new friends. It wasn't that Sam couldn't make any, there were a couple boys in his English class who liked to work with him when they had to choose groups, and there was Jess, the girl in his Maths class who smiled at him and picked him for paired work. But mostly Sam was pretty happy on his own. He'd make friends in his own time, and it wouldn't be just because it'd stop Crowley picking on him.

He politely declined the offer of the buddy system. He'd make his own friends in his own time, thank you. They talked about his old class. He told the teacher about Gabriel, and Charlie and the quiet kid called Garth who'd moved schools last year. It turned out he'd only moved a town over. He went to Sam's school. What was even funnier was that he was in Gabriel's homeroom class too. Sam smiled at that. At least Garth would have a friendly face. He'd been quiet and sweet when they were little, but people didn't take to him easily. He was a bit odd, something Sam and Charlie and Gabriel had always loved about him.

The Head teacher had sent Sam back to class with that funny, thoughtful look adults get in their eye right before they meddle. Sam hoped he'd managed to dissuade it.

When the results of that look rolled around, though, he was really quite glad he hadn't.

Sam walked into homeroom that Monday just like every day he had so far. He even made it all the way to his seat and smiled hello to Charlie before he'd even noticed there were other people sitting at their table. He'd must have looked as wrong-footed as he'd felt, because Charlie had laughed so hard she almost fell out of her seat.

Gabriel had grinned wide and gleeful as always and Garth had raised the fingers of one hand in an awkward, familiar little wave and said it was _wonderful_ to see Sam again.

Sam had never been quite so glad that Crowley was a douche.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Sam pushed his key into the lock, but the door opened before he had the chance to turn in. Dean stood on the threshold, a frown on his face he'd probably never admit was worried. His eyes found Sam first and then flicked to Gabriel before meeting Sam's again. He stepped back without a word, closing and locking the door behind them.

Sam waited, watching Gabriel walk off towards the stairs without so much as a glance over his shoulder. Sam's stomach turned. Gabriel was understandably silent. It wasn't as if it wasn't warranted. It was nearly three am and he'd been tied to a tree for God knows how many hours. Silent was a reasonable reaction. But part of Sam was freaking out inside, because Gabriel was _never_ quiet.

He'd been in fights before. He'd _lost_ fights before, and he was always one of two ways. He either raged and ranted and spat and snarled, or he shrugged it off in a forced sort of good-naturedness, telling Sam he probably deserved it. Sam wasn't sure he'd ever seen this reaction before, at least not to pranks gone wrong or bullying or fights or school.

The only time he could ever remember Gabriel being like that was when Sam was in hospital for a week when they were fourteen. They didn't talk about that, because Sam had nearly died and it made everyone uncomfortable to think about.

It hadn't been anything noteworthy. He wasn't mugged or hit by a car or anything shocking and ridiculous. He'd had a sore stomach for a couple days, thrown up for two nights. The pain had shifted around a lot and they hadn't been as worried as they should have, Sam included. A kidney infection had taken proper hold and had him down in less than a week, hospitalised and hallucinating from dehydration and not eating.

He'd gotten sick. Everybody got sick. But Sam had always had a pretty solid immune system, so when he'd insisted he didn't need to see a doctor, that he'd be right as rain by the end of the week, they'd stopped pushing. Gabriel had sat beside Sam's hospital week almost the whole week, his father leaving for work too early in the morning to make sure he went to school and his older brother unable to sit outside all day making sure he stayed in the building. Gabriel had been quiet and worried and ashamed, angry at himself for not making Sam see a doctor.

Sam hadn't been able to convince him otherwise, however much he tried. And he tried. Dean got like that all the time when something bad happened to Sam, like it was his fault for not preventing it. Sam had just ridden it out with reassurances and by moving on, andGabriel had come out of it on his own. Sam was hoping that would be the case this time too.

"Did you text Cas?"

Sam turned to look at his brother. He shook his head, running a hand down over his face and stifling a yawn. Now that he'd found Gabriel, the tiredness he'd been missing was kicking in.

"Not yet. Wanted to get him here and cleaned up and stuff before I did." he answered quietly, turning and listening to the silence from upstairs.

Somewhere through the back there was a TV on low. Dean had been sitting in the kitchen, then. Waiting. Sam tried to smile, but he could feel it fall flat. Dean nodded, following Sam's gaze towards the staircase.

"I'll phone him. He won't settle till he knows."

Sam nodded. The pause hung between them, Dean waiting and Sam trying to ready himself. It was a long minute.

"Dunno who it was, yet." he said softy, the sound almost swallowed by the space between them.

Dean said nothing, his footing shifting almost unnoticeably. Sam sighed.

"They duct-taped him to a fucking tree." he said, and he couldn't look at Dean.

He knew if he did something would happen. He didn't know whether it would be that sharp sting in his eyes or the thickness in his throat or the too-hot of the injustice in his gut, but _something_ would get the better of him. And he couldn't let it, not just yet. He had Gabriel to check over, to make okay. He had to talk to him and let him talk it out, and make him take a bath or a shower and try to push as much of him back towards _okay_ as he could. Gabriel couldn't let Sam just click his fingers and make it fine, but Sam could give him the pieces to do it himself.

The shower. The medical kit under the sink, if he needed it. Fresh clothes. Hot chocolate. Silence. Space. Cas, on the phone. Whatever it took to make it manageable, to make it better.

"Shit." Dean breathed back, and Sam could hear everything else that he wasn't saying.

Gabriel had had his share of fights over the years. He was brazen and unafraid to speak his mind, and he'd been paying for it as long as Sam could remember. Most of the time it was scraps behind the school, scrapes, paint squeezed into his locker, his schoolbag knocked from his shoulder when they were walking. Pranks, from the mildly irritating stink bomb in the corridor to the humiliating, like the letters forged in his handwriting that Alistair had slipped into the lockers of half the girls in homeroom.

When it was bad, Sam stuck by him. When it was necessary, Sam stuck up for him. He was bigger than Crowley now. Bigger than Alistair, bigger than Art and Mark and Dick and Brady. It usually didn't come to it, most often because Gabriel wouldn't let him, but when it did Sam could hold his own. And he was never the only one walking away with bruises or a bloody nose.

But this…

This was something on a completely different plane. It wasn't a fight, it wasn't a prank and it wasn't bullying like Sam had seen before. This had been torture, plain and simple. And Sam didn't recognise the coldness it had brought into his abdomen, not beyond the knowledge that it was tearing him in two with anger and something achy and broken. There was that hysterical urge again, to scoop Gabriel up and hold him close and for it to be okay. For it not to have happened.

He swallowed and turned his face a little, unable to meet Dean's eye and not really knowing what he could say. He couldn't even begin to make light of it, to pretend he wasn't feeling sick and a little disbelieving, like he'd wake up in a moment and find out it was a fever dream.

"I… Dean, it was… It was bad." he managed, his mouth dry, "They- they-"

He stopped, closed his mouth against the words, his eyes prickling with a wet heat.

"We'll sort it." Dean answered.

His voice was gruff and almost stand-offish, telling that Dean was uncomfortable and probably feeling much like Sam himself was. He nodded, brushed his eyes with the cuff of one sleeve.

"Yeah."

Dean moved, walking stiffly towards the kitchen. Sam wondered what he'd say to Cas, whether he'd give the full truth. Or as much of it as he had, anyway. He knew he'd likely lie a little, lighten it. Sam doubted he'd mention duct-tape. That would be Gabriel tale to tell, if he wanted to. Sam made his way slowly towards the stairs, each step closer bringing a mixture of anticipation and dread. He clutched at calm, knowing that the last thing his friend needed when he was vulnerable like that was Sam to lose his cool. Being angry right now wouldn't help Gabriel. It might even make things worse for him, or make him angry too.

Sam knew he'd be angry if somebody jumped him and taped him to a tree. He'd be _furious_. But he'd be humiliated too, even if the only people who saw him like that ere the bullies and Gabriel. He'd feel stung and sick and angry and probably a little lost, the way he had when Crowley and Brady had cornered him one summer when Gabriel was on holiday and stolen his shoes and his jeans. He'd had to walk home with his jumper tied around his waist, and when he'd gotten home and Dean had seen him and gotten angry on his behalf, he'd snapped and snarled and given Dean hell because his own pride and security had been damaged.

Gabriel didn't need Sam's righteous anger and he didn't need him to sit and spout how awful and unbelievable it was. He needed Sam to sit and listen and offer what he could in comfort. He needed Sam to sit and take his anger, listen to his snarling and hum in understanding and help him decide whether the bruises were only bruises or something more.

He stopped outside the bathroom door, staring at the thin rectangle of light where it was ajar and trying to draw a breath solid enough to steady himself. His chest was trembling, his hands unsteady, and there was an embarrassed uncertainty perching in his ribcage because he was going to be seeing something intimate, something private about Gabriel. Something raw and fragile and he wasn't ready for it. Gabriel was the strong one, the steely one, the one with no fear. But when he was hurting, he was different and it frightened Sam just as much as it upset him, because is the great and mighty Gabriel had been made hurt or afraid, then what hope did Sam have of fixing it, when all he was was _Sam_?

He swallowed, hard. He clenched and unclenched his hands, and he closed his eyes tight until he saw black spots. And then he slowly pushed open the door, the knuckles of one hand tapping gently on the wood.

Gabriel was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat, his head tipped to one side and his eyes open. He was staring down at the empty bath top beside him, his expression something undefinable but sad, his eyes betraying that his thoughts were evidently far away. Sam's stomach clenched, and he slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He stayed there, back against the chipping paint, as he looked at Gabriel.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

I was easier to see the bruises in the light, under the hood Gabriel sell had pulled up over his hair. One cheekbone was bruised black, the skin so dark it looked like paint. He had a marbled bruise over the opposite eye, plummy and painful even to see. His chin was grazed, blood crusted and rusty on his skin. What Sam could see of his hands, half-buried in the fabric of Sam's hoody still, were almost as purple as they were flesh, and Sam had to blink wide and slow to stop the prickle in his eyes.

"Hey." he greeted in a hush, taking one careful step towards Gabriel.

The boy jerked weakly, blinking drowsily as his head turned towards the sound of Sam's voice. He looked at Sam for a long, slow moment before one half of his mouth softened and relaxed almost into a tilted smile.

"Hiya, Sammy." he replied, in the same raspy sound of before, "Zoned out for a sec."

Sam swallowed his response and stepped closer until he could sit on the corner of the tub, close enough to check Gabriel over. Gabriel gave him a dulled look, something that might have been watered-down amusement.

"Come to play nurse?" he tired, but Sam couldn't even manage a fake smile.

"Oh, Gabe." he answered in a breath, letting his eyes roam the bruises on Gabriel's face from his new angle, trying not to wince even though Gabriel would know it was bad.

In response, Gabriel only looked down at his hand, turning them over and running his fingers over the rougher weave of the elastic cuffs.

"I always liked this one." he murmured blankly, like he was commenting on the music in an elevator, "Guess I found a way to borrow it after all, huh?"

Sam fought down the want to correct him, to make it clear how pissed he was at whoever had done this. Because flippancy was how Gabriel would get through this. Flippancy and over-stated dark humour and despondency.

Instead Sam looked at the sleeves. The hoody was one of his favourites, a faded navy remnant of some summer road trip or other. Ever since Dean had passed his driver's test he'd taken to packing Sam and Gabriel and Castiel into a car with four duffel bags, a handful of classic rock tapes and a faded book of roadmaps. He claimed it was to try and give them a taste of what was out there, and he made out it was this great burden placed upon him as an older brother, but they all knew that was bullshit.

Dean loved to drive, loved the freeing nature of the open road, and he loved them too, even though he'd deny it till his last breath. The car was his pride and joy, minted and shiny as a new coin, a '67 Chevy Impala in glossy, beetle black. It had been their dad's car, and he'd been as proud of it as Dean was. The night he'd gotten loaded and split on them he'd spent a half-hour looking for the keys, which had been living in Dean's jacket pocket for over a year because John would disappear for days or weeks on end and Dean liked to drive Sam to school.

After he'd gone and Sam had mentioned it, Dean had said no way was John taking the car. That was _their_ car, his and Sam's. It had their legos in the air vents and their names carved in the wood slat under the loose edge on the boot-ledge. It still had a toy soldier Sam had crammed into the cigarette tray on one of the backseat doorhandles. Dean had felt something was off with John's usual drunken rant, and he'd somehow been sure John was leaving for good that time, for all he didn't take anything more than the duffel bag he usually did.

The car was Dean's and Sam's, and for a while every summer it became Gabriel's and Castiel's too. Their home away from home. Sam and Castiel took turns riding shotgun, because Dean claimed he didn't like the distraction of having Gabriel up front on a sugar-rush incase he did something idiotic like dance around or start flicking Dean's ears. Gabriel couldn't really argue it, considering that was standard in-car behaviour for him.

They'd drive anywhere and everywhere, routes and destinations chosen by chance; blind fingers prodding a spot on the map, the flip of a coin deciding which junction they took, which town they passed through. what tourist attraction they stopped at. They slept in admittedly crappy motels and lived on diner food and gas station coffee and they went anywhere they pleased. For kids stuck in a city on the small side who felt like they were trapped there with the same morons they'd gone all the way through school with, a week or two or three riding around like modern day pirates was pretty sweet.

The hoody had been bought on one of those journeys, Sam was sure. Gabriel had never once packed enough clothing for a trip, and had a habit of spilling slushy or coffee down himself when he was bounding down a main-street like an over-eager puppy. When that happened, he'd then forget to wash it at a laundrettes, or at the in-motel facilities, and he'd solve his problem by simply stealing from Sam.

So Sam, in turn, had gotten into the habit of packing extra. One time he didn't pack extra enough, and voila. The hoody came into their lives.

He watched Gabriel, and he almost managed a smile at the memories.

"Summer, right?"

Gabriel looked up, then. His eyes were a fraction brighter.

"Yeah. When we went paintballing with those bikers, remember?"

Sam hummed, almost a chuckle. That day's activities had been an adventure, to say the least. They'd stopped at motel in the evening, walked down the street to the nearest diner. It had been raining, and Gabriel had been eating a bumper bag of gummy worms for the last thirty miles. He was talking a hundred miles an hour at Sam's side, bouncing on the balls of his feet as his arms waved like crazy. Dean had been grumbling swearwords under his breath since they'd left the motel and Sam and Castiel were exhausted playing middle-men.

When they'd opened the diner door, Gabriel had pivoted on his heel to maintain a view of Sam while he continued to babble, and one of his trainers had skidded, the combination of rainwater and linoleum not the most stable flooring. One arm had knocked into a guy getting up at the table by the door, and the following argument had been loud and mostly handled by Dean, with Cas standing close beside him, Sam behind with a hand tight on Gabriel's collar lest his best friend do something stupid.

In the end, they'd somehow managed to be challenged to a paintball fight the next day in a field nearby. The battle was muddy and painful and exhilarating, marking the high-point of that year's trip. Of course a whole day in a post-rain field exchanging paintball rounds with a group of bikers left them each down an outfit. Back at the motel, Gabriel had cleaned up first and stolen Sam's last clean shirt and hoody while Sam was showering.

"Yeah. You were all over the place in that mud."

"Yeah." Gabriel sighed back, a touch of nostalgia in his tone as he dropped his gaze again.

Sam waited in the quiet, waited for a signal, a cue on how to proceed. It came in the form of Gabriel sighing.

"Thanks." he said, softly, "For giving me it, I mean."

He sounded wary, lost and resigned and upset. Sam gripped the enamel side of the bathtub and gave his head a slow shake.

"You don't have to." Sam answered instantly, gentleness bleeding into the words, "We don't have to talk about it right now."

Gabriel opened his mouth but no sound came out, and he closed it again with an audible swallow. He nodded, closing his eyes. Sam nodded too, reaching out to put a hand on Gabriel's shoulder, just to squeeze in support. But at the touch Gabriel seemed to shrink, falling forwards till his forehead thunked against Sam's chest. Sam dropped his chin onto the top of the hood and focused on breathing slow and even to keep Gabriel relaxed.

"I can run a bath, if you want." he murmured, staring at a discoloured spot high on the wall, "Or put the shower on?"

Gabriel's face nodded against his chest.

"Yeah." he said, and Sam managed a dry chuckle that time.

"Which one?"

"Bath." Gabriel replied, before sniffling, "Easier to drown myself."

Sam sighed.

"Don't be dramatic," he whispered, tipping his head down to bump it against Gabriel's temple, "or I'll have to sit outside the door."

In return, Gabriel gave him a pale, amused laugh.

"Afraid I don't have the energy for a good show tonight, Samoose."

Sam smiled, flicking the back of his friend's neck playfully.

"Shut up." he answered warmly, feeling marginally better at the sound and feel of Gabriel's laugh against his neck.

They stayed like that for a few moments, Sam's hands brushing thoughtless, soothing circles on Gabriel's back. It was Gabriel who broke the quiet, tipping his head up but not drawing away, head at an awkward angle as he tried to look at Sam.

"Better get it over with now, before I fall asleep and really drown."

Sam rolled his eyes and bit down the faint fear that Gabriel was serious. He wasn't. He wouldn't be, not like that if he was really… Sam shook the thought away. Gabriel would never feel like that, not really, truly, seriously. And if he did, he'd never bring it up like that, not with Sam. He'd ask for help. Sam knew he would. He _had_ to know he would. He was hurting, and he'd been humiliated by assholes that Sam would make sure paid dearly for it, but he'd get through it. _They'd_ get through it. They always did.

"Okay. How are- Are you- I mean…" Sam cringed at his own fearfulness.

"Am I what?" Gabriel asked, when Sam didn't continue.

"Do you want me to check you over?" he asked, awkward, "Or are you- I mean- Nothing's broken, right?"

Gabriel was quiet for a minute and Sam closed his eyes and cursed himself for his own stupidity. But then Gabriel did draw back, returning to the same position as before, hunched on the lid of the toilet. But he dropped back the hood and looked at Sam with a grim, wry smile.

"Nothing broken." he said, "Least as far as I can tell. A lot of it's gonna sting in the mornin' though."

Sam winced as he looked at him, knowing there wasn't anything he could answer with that would make it better, knowing Gabriel knew he knew that. Gabriel's smile dropped, but the wall of disinterest he was trying to hold up dropped too. He was vulnerable and honest as he looked at Sam again.

"It sucks, kiddo, but I'll cope. Got a couple cuts, but most of it's the old black-and-blues."

Sam nodded, and swallowed the question. His purpose right then was to get Gabriel cleaned up and into other clothes and feeling a bit better. Questions could wait. _Would_ wait. They'd wait in Sam's head and the tip of his tongue until Gabriel was ready to give him the answers, and only then would they meet the air.

Instead, Sam got up and walked down to the other end of the bathtub, turning the hot tap on to warm and to rinse the tub before he pushed the plug in. He busied his hands, giving himself a moment to breath and try to lessen the impact of those bruises behind his eyelids, giving Gabriel a moment too. When he'd started the bath he turned back, drying his hands as he looked at his friend.

Gabriel was looking speculatively down at the cuffs again, running the fingers of one hand over the material like he was playing piano. Sam's heart squeezed at how small his friend looked, how out of his depth it made him feel.

"I can, uhm, go." he said, articulately, feeling his neck heat when Gabriel looked up again, "I'll get you some clothes, let you-" he waved his hands awkwardly, "wash."

He could _feel_ his own lame expression, knew how stupid he must look. He fully expected some familiar Gabriel snark, a raised eyebrow, the wicked smirk, a salacious joke. What he got instead was a surprisingly evident display of fear. Gabriel's eyes darkened and he opened his mouth, fingers curling reflexively as though to hold onto something.

"I-" was all Gabriel said, a frown flickering onto his face before he rolled his shoulders and looked a little out of place.

Sam gave him a chagrined smile.

"I can sit outside, you know. If you actually want me to."

Gabriel looked like he was going to rebuff that instantly. They were close, but they weren't _that_ close. He wasn't a kid in danger of slipping and being sucked down the plughole. But there was something else in his eyes too, something foreign and… _broken_ , and Sam wished it would go away.

"I don't need a suicide watch, you know." he answered in an uncomfortably neutral tone, "But I guess if you can't stay away I don't mind having a chat through the door."

"You got it." Sam answered, feeling an unexpected relief well in his gut, "I'll nip and get you something to wear, okay?"

Gabriel was looking studiously down at his s;eves again and only gave a vague nod in response, but Sam understood. Asking for help was hard, especially asking it of another guy. Asking it of his best friend was something different too. They were closer to each other than anyone except their maybe their brothers, and that meant there was very little Gabriel could really hide from Sam and keep for himself. As nice as such a bond sounded in theory, in reality it left you open and vulnerable. Weak.

And Gabriel Novak was not weak. Being brought low by some dick was killing him, and Sam knew it even if he couldn't really see it.

When he brought clothes for Gabriel it was a soft set of worn pyjamas, and Gabriel didn't question it. He stayed often enough. Castiel would understand, and Michael wouldn't really bother either way. Sam knew Gabriel would never tell Michael, if he could get away with it. Michael was… Well, he was distant and strict at the best of times, but ferociously protective. Even living away from home now, he would be back in a flash if he thought his brothers needed him.

If they needed an older brother, it was best to tell Luke. He lived the closest, and even though he was the family black sheep and a bit of loose canon, he'd be there if Cas and Gabriel needed him. But all of that would be Gabriel's call, Sam knew, as he sat with his back against the closed door and they exchanged small talk about ideas for their Physics project.


	6. Chapter 6

_**(A/N):** Hey Guys. Now I know these chapters have been pretty back-story heavy, but I'm trying out a new sort of structure. Basically, when their shared history comes into play later in the story, you'll have all the pieces rather than me giving you a whole big passage of it closer to the time. Let me know what you think. Too much? I'm also thinking of starting a little Companion of sorts, something I've never even thought of doing before, that would maybe be set during times of their childhood and follow ideas I've mentioned. Some of this story might move over there if it's clogging up the flow of the story. I know sometimes less is more, so. Maybe I'll do that._  
 _Anyways, hope you're enjoying it so far! Your comments make my day, and you're all awesome!_  
 _Happy Reading!_

* * *

 _Chapter Six_

It was eating at him like acid. They both knew he had to ask. They were only dodging the question, with never a chance that they could just leave it alone. Sam followed Gabriel through to his room, unable to feel the nice sort of warmth he usually felt when Gabriel headed straight for the bed they both subconsciously thought of as _his_. Loki was unusually quiet when they came back through, lying patiently on Gabriel's bed and wagging his tail when he saw them.

The dog was perceptive, there was no doubt about it. Loki never slept on that spare bed unless Gabriel was in it, and he shifted when Gabriel reached for the duvet now. Sam sat down on his own bed as he watched Gabriel climb under the covers and prop his pillows against the wall to sit and reach for Loki. The dog wagged his tail again, crawling up the bed on his belly to lick at Gabriel's fingers. It was such a small thing, but Sam watched as Gabriel's mouth twitched into a small smile.

"Hey, buddy. Taste like soap, don't I?"

Loki gazed up at Gabriel with adoring brown eyes and Sam couldn't help the half-snort that made its way out of him. It might say on paper that Loki was a Winchester dog, but that didn't mean the dog knew it. He was friendly and playful, and like all good Labradors he often forgot he was no longer a puppy. Though trained, he was subject to whim and would chose to ignore whoever was calling for him to do something if he thought something else was more interesting. And he was _crazy_ about Gabriel.

They often joked that Loki liked Gabriel better than the Winchesters, and sometimes when Sam was feeling particularly glum it made him a little sad. But in that moment he was ever grateful for the canine's devotion, because if it made Gabriel smile when he felt like crap, then it could only be a good thing. Maybe asking could wait till the morning. He supposed really it already was morning, but the perks of a Saturday meant they would at least have the chance for more than a couple hours.

Maybe if Gabriel was feeling a little more like himself they could make pancakes. Maybe if he was still not so much himself Sam could try anyway, see if it brightened him up. If he could convince Gabriel to help, which under normal circumstances was a cinch. Making them on his own wasn't as much fun. Somehow it was a totally different experience with Gabriel.

With the added bonus of maybe roping Dean in to help too. He often did, even if he passed it off as an opportunity to prevent them wrecking _his_ kitchen. Sam swallowed back the unexpected flare of anger once again, at the thought that the bastards could have hurt Gabriel to the point where he might not want to help make one of his favourite foods.

Maybe Sam needed to quit worrying so damn much and wait and see.

Gabriel murmured smalltalk at the dog while Sam turned the lamp low and lay in his bed, and though he had to feel Sam's eyes on him he didn't bring it up. Eventually his voice fell quiet and Sam could hear them rearranging as Gabriel lay down properly. Sam had long since closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep for a while longer, listening instead to Gabriel's breathing and wondering what he could do to make the rotting feeling in his stomach let up enough for him to relax. From somewhere atop Gabriel's bed, Loki gave a long yawn and shook his ears out, the tag on his collar giving a faint clinking sound.

The extra bed had come about when Sam was really little and had moved with them to their new house all those years ago only because there had been space in the moving van. John had wanted to get rid of it.

Sam was nearly three when their mother died. It wasn't long after Dean's seventh birthday, and it had almost shattered their family into fractions. John had been respectable and thoroughly invested while Mary was alive, but once she'd died something in him had broken. Sam was too little to remember, only knew things like that from Dean and from their Uncle Bobby, who was really just a friend of the family that saw them as surrogate sons and checked in on them every now and then because he knew John was never around.

Sam had been plagued by night terrors and insecurity when Mary died and John had found more mornings than not that Sam had crawled in with his brother during the night, clinging to Dean like a lifeline. As brothers went they were really close, probably due to John's terrible parenting and Dean basically being Sam's only real parent. Dean was Sam's whole world for a long, long time. Try as he might have, John couldn't drum Sam's dependency out of him. So instead he'd bought another bed for Sam's room, a spare bed for Dean to sleep in if Sam was having a bad night, with the bonus that Dean could sleep in Sam's room if any of John's hunting buddies ever stayed over.

The need for Dean to give up his bed to anyone was rare, but Dean slept half his nights in Sam's room and the other half in his own, and only half of _those_ were by himself. At least till Sam was around five or six. There were a few occasions when he was a little older, but for the most part it ended not long after Sam started school.

Possibly because he and Gabriel were sewn together practically all the time, even if Gabriel annoyed Dean and John didn't like him. He was good for Sam, and he slept in the spare bed in Sam's room so often when they were kids that it had become permanently labelled in Sam's mind as _Gabriel's bed_.

Since Michael had moved out of their family home, Gabriel had stayed at home more often, and when Luke moved to his new flat - without telling Michael - Gabriel stayed with Sam less and less. Despite the strangeness of it, having had Gabriel in his room every other night for so long, Sam could see how much happier Gabriel was at home. Michael had kept them all together when their dad ran off. Since the boys had lost their mother young, just like Sam and Dean, Michael had already played as big a role in Gabriel and Castiel's childhood as Dean had for Sam. When Charles finally stopped coming home from his 'business trips', Michael had simply stepped up and become both parents.

He was twenty-two when it happened, so when some neighbour or other phoned Social Services on the house after one particularly rowdy argument between Gabriel, Luke and Michael, he had been old enough and silver-tongued enough to keep them together under one roof.

Gabriel hadn't slept in his own house once the whole month following Chuck's departure. Considering John had been ditching Dean and Sam since they were old enough to lock the door behind him, Sam had understood and Dean had pretended not to notice Gabriel's increased presence at their breakfast table. Fourteen had been a tough year for them both, but they'd gotten through it with the help of each other and older brothers.

It sucked, but they had each other, Michael and Dean were working and John had at least had the decency not to cancel any direct debits keeping the house their home while Dean was still at the local college. Dean was a few months shy of eighteen when John left for good and so he and Sam had kept their mouths tightly shut about it. Charles had abandoned his own family not six months earlier and to a group of unprepared teenagers it had felt like they were damned, the whole world against them.

Rumours started up at school. If you were friends with a Novak you'd better watch out your dad didn't fuck off and leave you. Nobody knew for sure that John was gone, but it had never been much of a secret that he was out of town a lot. Eventually, as all the most vicious rumours do, word reached the teachers once too many times and suddenly everything was looking potentially bleak.

Sam was sitting in the dining hall with Gabriel when he saw Dean standing by the doors with a grim look on his face. They exchanged tense, fast whispers in the corridor, trying to ignore the curious eyes of students passing them by.

Sam's heart was in his throat.

They'd called Dean in for a meeting about John. They couldn't get hold of John at work. The number they had was for the mechanics he hadn't worked at in over a year. Dean was sure they were going to want to involve Social Services.

Sam spent the rest of lunchtime throwing up in the toilets, Gabriel leaning against the stall door and snarking at the first years who came in, sending them running.

They walked to their next class in fearful quiet, and Sam had barely gotten through the door but their teacher told him he was wanted in the Office. When the receptionist told him the Headmaster would be a couple minutes longer, Sam was once agains holed up in the bathroom, trying to make himself look presentable, trying to think of a lie, any lie vague enough to convince them not to tear him from his brother's keep.

He'[d splashed his face with water and patted it dry with tissue and stood there, gripping the sink with blanching fingers for a lot longer than a few minutes. He expected to be scolded when he got back, but he was told there was someone else in the office now. Sam's empty stomach had threatened to supply more bile.

When the door had finally opened, it was not his brother or the Social Worker Sam was expecting who strolled out.

"Gabe?" Sam hissed, looking utterly wretched sitting on that stupid velour-covered seat.

Gabriel's cocky grin had taken a lot of effort right then, a pretence that he couldn't sense the Headmaster following him from the office.

"I was just telling the Head about the crap pancakes your dad made on Saturday." he said, smoothly, despite how his heart was hammering at what could happen if his lie was seen through.

For a moment Gabriel had watched fearfully as a puzzled light crept into Sam's eyes, before his while expression had washed with a sweet relief.

"Oh." Sam answered softly, before giving the teacher behind Gabriel a sheepish smile, "Yeah, he's never been good at pancakes."

Sam had managed to keep the charade strong when the Headmaster spoke to him. The man suspected, that much was obvious. He tried to level with Sam. Told him how it didn't have to be something he shouldered all on his own, that there were teachers who would listened, people who could help. Told him it wasn't anything to be ashamed of if they were on their own, that he could phone someone to take away the pressure. Sam thought of Dean, reliable Dean who was only four years older than him and yet had so much on his shoulders. Sam had felt himself weakening. But he wasn't on his own. He had Dean, and he had Gabriel and even Michael and Luke looking out for him.

It was a rocky few months of looking over their shoulders all the time until Dean hit eighteen and immediately filed for custody of Sam. They caught John on one of his many infrequently-answered phones. He was furious. He screamed down the phone. He ranted and raged and roared.

Three weeks later the papers came through and they were safe. Dean started working as soon as his apprenticeship at the college was complete, and by his next birthday he'd spent a week on the phone talking to people about official things and sounding far more grown-up than he should have had to. Bobby dropped by that week, spent a month in the house teaching Dean everything he could think of that the kid didn't already know.

By the time he left they were feeling pretty confident about being on their own.

Gabriel had been working through his own family crap the whole time and Sam had been trying his best to help, but in the end it was most often Gabriel helping him. He called out people whispering in the corridors. He put an end to the rumour that Dean and Sam had killed their dad and their weird Uncle had come along to help them hide the body. He turned up the first day of a long weekend with Castiel in tow and a dozen tins of paint in a wheelbarrow.

Somehow he'd convinced them. They'd stripped out all the old wallpaper in John's room. They threw out old papers, magazines, junk. They stripped the bed and threw a tarp over the top. They painted the room, each wall a different shade of blue and seamed in two with a border in different colours, the work of Castiel's free time and his love for nature. bees swooped lazily over painted fields of horses, sheep, cows. A forever-running reel, a banner through the middle of each wall. It was detailed, almost madly so.

It was almost a little too floral, and yet somehow it had the feel of cowboys to it too.

Castiel fell into Gabriel's bed each night almost dead on his feet, leaving Gabriel and Sam to crush into Sam's bed and squabble over the duvet. On the last afternoon Castiel was done, standing proudly in the centre of the room with yellow in his hair and green on his cheek and a kaleidoscope of colours on his hands and the proudest grin Sam had ever seen him wear.

He was fourteen then, still pretty small for his age and already an expert in solemn and stoic. Sam and Gabriel watched over him like anxious parents but truth be told Castiel seemed to veer around trouble like he knew it was coming. He wasn't popular, and he didn't care.

Sam hugged him hard as he marvelled over the bluebirds singing in the branches of a corpse of trees. Gabriel whooped and followed the band around the room in a double-circuit and hollered for Dean.

That was the day Sam and Gabriel agreed Castiel was utterly smitten with Sam's older brother. Personally Sam didn't see the appeal, and when he asked Gabriel his friend merely shrugged and said a guy could do much worse than a Winchester. Dean, nineteen and in his new role of House-Adult, seemed not to notice how red Castiel got when he praised the beauty of his work. He also seemed not to notice how the boy's blue eyes never left his the whole evening at dinner and watching a movie later, nor how gruff his voice whenever he spoke.

Dean blamed Cas's painting when Sam suddenly began begging for a dog. But he gave in anyway.

Gabriel went with Sam to choose one. Dean had brushed off Sam's initial request, but once Sam was in bed he'd spent the night on his laptop trying to work out the best breed for his little brother. He'd winced at the prices. He'd grafted payment plans. He'd decided to find a way and told Sam yes. When Sam announced he and Gabriel were going to take the bus to the next town to look in the pound, Dean had laughed at himself for thinking Sam would want a pedigree when he could take in a stray who'd been abandoned.

Loki wasn't the well-behaved and placid creature Dean had expected, but somehow he _fit_.


End file.
